Mrs. Shih interrupted me. “Is he handsome? I bet he is.”
“He is. Very.”
“Of course he is,” said Mrs. Garrett. “But is he nice? What’s he like?”
Honestly, I didn’t know the answer to those questions. “I’ll let you know.”
“He has to be better than the last guy,” said Mrs. Martinez, and the women all nodded.
By “the last guy,” I assumed they meant Howard, but that had been a year and a Wyatt ago. I never told the yoga women about my sex life. I barely told them about my love life. “He’s someone I knew in college. We’re just going out for dinner.”
And it might not even be a date.
“Oh, a boy she used to know. I bet there’s a story there.” Mrs. Gupta must have been eavesdropping.
I grabbed my backpack and made sure everything was squared away before throwing it over my shoulder. “I’ll give you all a full report next time, okay?”
We filed out in the same direction, but they headed toward their cars while I unlocked my bike from the rack. I hopped on and began pedaling up the sidewalk. Normally, I took side streets to the town house. I loved the beautiful homes, the lush magnolias and dogwoods, and all the colorful azaleas. I did not love the sun beating down on me in the early summer Atlanta heat, however.
Today, I decided to take a detour through the stretch of restaurants and shops surrounding Alfie’s bar. The bar hadn’t opened yet, but I slowed my bike and took a good look at the place in daylight. I’d barely registered it prior to the night before. Glossy black paint covered at least twenty more uneven layers before it hit brick. The second floor had a New Orleans–style balcony and gorgeous tall windows.
For a heartbeat, I thought about knocking to see if Alfie might be around, but the place seemed devoid of human activity. What time did bars usually open? I circled back and checked the hours out of curiosity:
5:00 PM-2:00 AM MONDAY-SATURDAY
What I wouldn’t give to work those hours instead of fighting my natural sleep cycle. I pedaled away, at first laughing at the idea of suggesting to Aida we change our office hours. But as I turned off into the residential neighborhoods, the idea stopped being so funny. If I could work instead of battling insomnia, maybe I wouldn’t be so tired all the time. Maybe we could consider flex hours at the least. Why not?
I turned the final corner and locked the bike against the side of the house. As I climbed the steps of the front porch, I scrolled through my text messages, trying to think of a cool response.
I knew I was supposed to play some kind of game, pushing back to make it seem like I wasn’t too available, that I couldn’t be expected to be free on such late notice, that I should act hard to get. But none of those things were true.
Sure. Just tell me where.
Inside, Aida and Marco sat on the sofa playing Call of Duty, and I headed to the kitchen to make coffee, but finding a pot already brewing, I poured a mug and carried it to the living room to watch their murderous rampage.
My phone buzzed and I checked it to find another text.
Mexican?
I’d go to Taco Bell if it meant hanging with Tristan. Sure.
His next text had the name of the restaurant and the time.
Tickled by this new development, I wanted to share with someone who’d be equally excited. Aida was not that person, but she was all I had.
“So.” I left that hanging there.
Aida pounded on her controller, shooting at a group of enemy fighters. “So?” She didn’t even glance at me.
“I have a dinner date tonight.”
Her avatar crept through a dark postapocalyptic hellscape. “With?”
“Tristan.”
“Son of a bitch.” A hail of bullets caught her from the left, and she spun to return fire. “What the hell, Marco?”
“Sorry. Sorry.” Marco swept the room and moved out in front. The game gave me a headache even playing alone, but watching them together made my nausea return with a vengeance. I ought to switch to a nice herbal tea before my insides ate themselves.
“I was wondering if you might be heading out tonight. I could use a ride to Little Five Points. I’ll get an Uber home.”
“Mmm-hmm . . .” Aida had a way of sounding skeptical whenever she said this, like it was a question, not an agreement.
“What?”
“Like you’ll be coming back home tonight.” She opened her inventory and scrolled through her guns.
“I will be.”
Marco asked, “Why doesn’t your date come get you?”
“Great question.” Aida paused the game and faced me. “Why doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he can’t for some reason.”
“He made it here last night.”
She was right, but maybe he’d taken an Uber. Maybe he’d walked.
“Can you take me over or not? I don’t want to have to fight for parking. If you can’t, I’ll ride my bike. It’s not that far.”
Marco looked up. “Don’t do that. It’s not safe at night.”
Aida set her controller on the coffee table. “No. We can take you.” She stretched. “I wanted to go check out this restaurant over in Decatur anyway.”
Marco added, “Promise you’ll call us or take an Uber to get home. Please don’t try to walk.”
Aida laughed. “In the morning. When you’re ready to come home.”
I flung a coaster at her. “I will be home tonight.”
I couldn’t imagine any scenario where Tristan would invite me back to his place. In fact, this would be the perfect opportunity to take Aida’s advice to kiss good night and walk away. If he didn’t call, I’d be seeing him on Friday night regardless.
But just in case, I’d be sure to shave and wear my date underwear. One could never be too prepared for spontaneous romance.
Chapter 7
What to wear? What to wear? Did I want to go with normal or look like myself? Tristan had seen me in ordinary-person camouflage, so I figured I should do a repeat, twisting my hair up to hide the multicolored ends and accentuating my eyes and lips.
Wyatt was wrong about me. My boobs alone started me at a solid six. Seven for some guys. With makeup, nobody could call me a butterface. With makeup, I could turn myself into a ten if I really wanted to. Tonight, I really wanted to.
I was tempted to wear the vintage dress I’d recently ordered. The cut was pretty simple with a fitted bodice and flared skirt, but the soft light-blue fabric was covered with various planets that had smiling faces. It was fun and funky, but probably too offbeat for Tristan. Still, I wanted to look pretty, flirtatious, and feminine, so I dug in my closet until I found a snug black V-neck blouse I knew flattered my shape. I allowed for a little whimsy, slipping into a stretchy purple skirt silk-screened with tiny video game controllers. And although it was possibly a real date, I opted for my Converse. I did own dress shoes, but they hurt my feet, and I reserved them for emergencies only.
As we drove up Moreland, Marco said to Aida, “So let me get this straight: Sierra had a crush on this guy in college.”
“Right.”
“And you say he’s the same guy who—”
“Yup,” Aida answered before he finished whatever he’d been about to say.